Terror at Taalhof
by Shelts89
Summary: A sleepy, backward village is plagued by a terrible beast. Can a rag tag band of adventurers help free the village of this tyranny? A short story set in The Old World of Warhammer Fantasy Battles.
1. Chapter 1

_**Terror at Taalhof**_

 _Markus noted the jovial way his companions laughed and joked as they prepared for the days expedition. Hertz, the giant Ostlander who towered above his compatriots by nearly a full foot, bellowed with laughter and slapped Arland on the back at a private joke passed between the two. Probably a lewd one thought Markus, most of Arland's were. After all, Arland was a bit of rogue, a charming one for sure, but a rogue none-the-less. A harsh criticism though, most people from the docklands of Altdorf were rogues after all and at least Arland's heart was in the right place. Still, Markus wished they were more focussed. Even though they wouldn't face the horrors of a vampire today._

 _Markus, and the other members of The Morrs Rest band of vampire hunters, had nearly laughed when they had heard the terrified villagers accounts of the terrible beats who plagued their lands. Rural backwater ignorance was one thing, but surely everyone knew that the undead hated moving water. The fact that the beasts lair was located inside a cave, not far from the village, from which an underground river flowed immediately discounted it from being one of the cursed, aristocracy of the night. Still, whatever it was The Morrs Rest would help the beleaguered inhabitants of this gods forgotten place. After all, they desperately needed the gold._

 _The sun shone warmly in the sky that morning as Markus, casually holding his fathers old crossbow over his shoulder, led The Morrs Rest into the shaded, woody foothills that surrounded Taalhof. They wove quickly and quietly throught the trees, along a rough dirt track with Arland out in front to guide them. Like Markus, Arland carried a crossbow, though his was loaded as his eyes scanned the trees around them. Behind him came Hertz, the lumbering hulk carried his great axe in one ham -sized fist as easily as a giant might carry off some cattle, and last was Markus, guarding the rear._

 _A few hours later, as the midday sun burned bright in the sky, their path took them to a small cave nestling in a wooded ravine. Out of the cave bubbled a stream, which could be seen peacefully meandering southwards, there to eventually join the River Stir._

" _Alright boys, shape up."ordered Markus gruffly, scratching his course beard. "Arland, guy up behind them there rocks to cover us. Me and Hertz will light a torch and flush whatever it is in there out." With this, Markus dropped to one knee and drew his flint and steel from the pack across his back. Quickly, he began working away with them to light a wooden torch Hertz had drawn from his pack and was holding out for him. With a sharp strike the spark caught and the torch was lit. Markus drew his trusted old sword that hung at his belt and held the torch out a head of him. His fingers fidgeted nervously on the handle of his blade as his palms grew damp with sweat. He could feel the nerves and adrenaline building as he crept cautiously towards the mouth of the cave. In his ears he could hear the splash of Hertz heavy footfalls behind him, and not for the first time he wished the giant Ostlander was stealthier, though he would never want to lose his brute strength. That had saved his neck more than a few times._

 _As they got closer to the cave he held out his torch further, casting a faint orange light around the dark and damp mouth of the cave. He nodded slowly, signalling for Hertz to move ahead. His eyes scanned the darkness ahead of him, searching for even the faintest sign of movement. Markus truly hated the moments before a fight, the fear and nerves made him feel queasy, and his heart thumped deep in his chest like a great drum. He took a deep breath and moved forward slowly as Hertz was swallowed by the dark of the cave._

" _Hey look at this!, Hertz deep voice broke the silence, echoing around the cave loudly._

" _Sssssh!" whispered Markus harshly as he saw Hertz turn around, holding out a bleached white rock. No. Not a rock, a skull. A human skull. Tattered and bloody remains of skin and hair hung limply from its pale, hard surface. This was a recent kill. Markus knew it._

" _Mine.", hissed a hoarse, gravelly voice from the darkness._

 _The crash of the skull hitting the floor reverberated around the cave, filling the void of the darkness, as Hertz dropped it to the floor. He grasped his great axe in two hands as he spun around, desperately searching for the source of the deathly voice._

 _Markus froze. From the impenetrable gloom above Hertz he could see two blazing, red orbs. His blood seemed to turn to ice as he saw the bottomless hunger and anger of a creature centuries old. A deep, terrible growl filled his ears, before a creature from mans darkest nightmare burst from the surrounding blackness._

 _Outside, Arland shot bolt upright as a blood-curdling scream cut through the silence, followed by a wet, gurgling sound that made him feel sick down in the depths of his stomach. He knew something had gone wrong. His mind raced, but he was torn with indecision. The new silence meant that surely his friends were dead. Should he stay alive, stay safe out here? Or should he see what had happened to his friends? A resigned sigh escaped his lips. No, he couldn't abandon them. With a grim look etched across his face, he drew the short sword at his waist and stepped forward towards the dark. Towards his death._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

 _The faint sound of water trickling down through rocks filled Arland's ears. Soft splashes from his footsteps sounded as loud as the crashing of a waterfall inside his mind. His nerves were getting the better of him. He gripped the handle of his sword harder as his palms became damp with sweat, and the thumping of his heart felt like the banging of a great drum deep inside his chest. The darkness of the cave enveloped him, overwhelming him with a sense of claustrophobic. He hadn't known fear like this since he was a child, a poor orphan growing up in the dark, dirty streets near the Altdorf docks; chased by drunken sailors fresh of the boats in the dead of night. It's a good thing he had always been quick. Not that that would help him now. He couldn't risk a proper run, one missed foot step on these wet, slippery rocks would send him tumbling to the floor and drawing whatever terrible beast lurked deeper in the dark. A soft prayer, more of a plea for protection, whispered quietly out of his mouth, as he kept his eyes on the faint glow of orange up ahead. That had to be Markus's torch, whatever had happened to his friends, he would find out when he reached that dying light ahead. Suddenly, he stopped. The soft sound a rock tumbling over could be heard up ahead. Was that one of his friends in need of help? Or something darker and more sinister?_

 _Deep in the darkness, crawling along a hidden path parallel to Arland, a single solitary figure crept as silent as a shadow. Deep red eyes blazed with hunger, and an undying anger at the world that had driven him to this life. Lithe, but powerful, its body was as white as sheet for its skin had not seen the sun in several lifetimes. The tang of blood filled his mouth after feeding on the large one's blood. It hungered for more, very rarely did so much fresh, full blooded prey bring itself into his home. And he was not willing to let this opportunity pass. He had to be cautious though, he knew this. There was new prey entering the cave, he couldn't let himself get caught off guard. He had already made that mistake, the taste of the large one had been so sweet and succulent. Fresh and warm blood had exploded in his mouth as his razor-sharp fangs had ripped into his throat, making the blood explode down his throat. But the small one, the small one had been quick. Quicker than most mortals. His blade had shot out as he had closed on it. Mortals weapons usually had no effect on his, his skin as tough as the finest steel armour, but this one's blade had been different. It had cut into his shoulder, only a graze but it hurt. He hadn't been hurt in many a year. This meant he would be more careful with this new prey. Yes, he thought, I will make sure this one never sees me._

 _His vision swam, dizzying him, as another wave of nausea and pain erupted through his shoulder. Panting for breath he lay back heavily against the cold, stone wall of the cave. He pressed his hands hard against the cut in his shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood pouring form the gaping, open wound in his shoulder, the pain almost causing him to collapse. By all the gods, he had never seen a beast move with such speed and ferocity! Erupting suddenly from the seemingly unending blackness of the cave it had slaughtered and torn up Hertz in seconds, giant fangs tearing his throat in great bites of flesh and volcanoes of blood, as its claws had sliced through his worn, leather armour like a great slicing sword. He had only escaped due to his natural quick reflexes. As the beast had leapt at him, Hertz still blood warm covering it's terrifying visage, he had quickly thrown his torch up and slashed his trusted, silver-edged sword wildly. Ranald's own luck must have been with him as the sword had found flesh and driven the beast off hissing and screaming. He made the shape of the hammer over his own heart as he remembered how the pallid, muscular flesh had smoked from the open wound. Gritting his teeth with desperation, he forced himself to stand. Silver edged sword tightly in hand Markus stepped forward, he knew he could hurt the beast. He knew it could be killed._

 _The first Arland knew of what hunted him in the dark was a faint hissing sound behind him, slowly, heart hammering in his chest he had turned. Perched on a rocky outcrop just above him was the beast. Skin pale and sickly, muscles rippling with massive tension as it crouched low in a pouncing position, like a cat stalking its prey. Two great fangs protruded from it's mouth, dripping with a disgusting mixture of blood and saliva and great talons of sharpened bone stretched out from his hands and feet, scratching against the rock. But the worst thing Arland saw was its eyes. In those burning pits of fire he saw his own doom, he saw himself being torn apart and feasted on. He saw a vast hunger for blood, unsatiable. He saw a darkness of the soul that could never be cured. Then, in the blink of an eye the beast, one moment as still as a statue, the beast burst into violent movement and the death he had seen in those eyes came for him._


End file.
